Black Sheep
by impydoll
Summary: Blaine is sent to a prison colony along with the world's unwanted. Lost and alone in a setting he doesn't belong in, survival is the main priority. When a handsome and reclusive stranger enters the picture, even his personal Hell might be tolerable.
1. Prologue

Three days. He could not believe that it had already been three days. The others in the cart had been arguing about it all morning, but Blaine knew for sure that it had been three days. They didn't get a lot of light in wagon, but there was just enough light coming through the air holes to count the sunsets. Three days.

Blaine wished that meant something. The passage of time wasn't a whole lot of comfort when you had no idea where you were headed. Based on the company in the wagon, it wasn't anywhere good.

He had tried to keep his eyes to the ground as much as possible, but his cautious glances around the inside of the covered wagon showed him torn ears, shoddy makeshift tattoos and broken smiles. Appearances could be deceiving, but based on the angry conversations he had overheard to this point, these men were probably not the friendly sort.

"Pretty boy's not bein' social," sneered an eye-patched fat-man sitting directly across from him in the wagon. Blaine continued to feign interest in his shoes, hoping that the man would get bored and leave him be. As per usual, his luck must have been in some other wagon.

The man was now talking to the man beside him, coughing out a gruff laugh as he continued. "Looks fancy. Well-to-do brat like that must've done somethin' real low to be in here with our lot. Play a little rough with some noble kids or somethin', Fancy?"

A loud bang from the other end of the wagon pulled Blaine from his interest in the ground. Fist still against the wooden base of the wagon, the tallest man in the wagon practically growled as he spoke, his voice gruff and even. "Shut the fuck up, Willard. No one cares what the kid did, or what you did. We're all fucked anyway. Give him peace." Blaine watched nervously as the fat-man (apparently 'Willard') made as if he was heading over to the taller man.. The man beside him grabbing him and yanking him back down.

"Leave it. Listen to him. Shut the fuck up." Muttering under his breath, Willard sat down, spitting in Blaine's general direction.

"Whatever. Kid is as good as dead when we get to Woodburn anyway."

Woodburn. It took every bit of him not to shudder at the name as the other men in the wagon continued to look between him, Willard and the angry giant at the far end. He had heard stories, rumours. It never occurred to him that it actually existed.

A criminal colony. A place where people were sent to disappear, to be forgotten.

And twenty-four hours earlier, Blaine had thought things couldn't possibly get any worse.


	2. Sheep in a Wolf's Clothing

It was a week later when the wagon finally arrived at its destination, its occupants even more surly and irritated than they had been earlier in the week. Continuing to stare at his shoes hadn't helped much as Blaine was starting to strongly suspect that he had a target on his back that was going to follow him beyond the small wooden box. Willard was smirking at him ever so often, whispering and chuckling as he gestured in his general direction. Apparently being well-fed and relatively well-groomed in the back of a wagon filled with men who kind of looked like they had been on the wrong side of a knife fight drew a little bit of unwanted attention. And here he was thinking that being allowed to bathe and shave before climbing into that wagon had been a kindness. One final joke before sending him off the edge of the world. How very kind, indeed.

Blaine covered his eyes as the door was opened, the sunlight harsh after days of darkness inside the wagon. Allowing his eyes a chance to adjust to the sun, Blaine's heart sunk as he took in the world beyond the wagon.

Sand as far as the eye can see. Blaine could appreciate the genius of the landscape around a prison colony… Sand like that was damn near impossible to run on and no one could really hide themselves on it. Essentially a moat without giving the convicts the benefit of enjoying a body of water. Growing up along a river as he had, that was a subtle punishment in itself for Blaine.

He waited his turn as one-by-one they were ushered from the wagon. Blaine nodded at the guard as he gestured to him, standing and heading towards the steps propped up against the wagon, his shackles clinking together as he moved. Standing up, the shackles felt even heavier, not helping with his balance in the slightest. It had been at least nine hours since they had been allowed the chance to stretch their legs and it wasn't doing much for his coordination.

The smack to the center of his back as his leading foot left the wagon didn't exactly help either.

Blaine hit the sand face first, monocled limbs tangled underneath his body. Sputtering sand as the uniformed men hauled him to his feet, he attempted to stand as tall as possible as he wiped the sand off his clothing. Ignoring the snickers and jeers from behind him, Blaine joined the procession with as much dignity as he could as a man choking up sand.

The march to the center of the settlement was relatively uneventful. He knew it was ridiculous, but marching through a shanty town in a desert felt wonderful after all the time inside the stuffy wagon. His legs were already aching from the sudden use, but the freedom of motion and the fresh air was doing wonders for him. It also helped that Willard and his pals were chained to the other marching line.

As they entered what seemed to be the central point of the settlement, he and his linemates were ushered into a line leading to a long table under some kind of canopy. Blaine watched silently as two stone-faced men seated at the table handed something to the men at the head of the line.

"What is it?" Blaine asked nervously as he accepted a small leather satchel from the men at the table.

"Stand near the platform. Commander Bradshaw will explain. Next!" Holding the pack to his chest, he nodded with a frown, heading to stand with the other people awkwardly milling around the large wooden platform at the center of the square. Surveying the group around the platform, Blaine was was interested to see that there were some women standing around the stage as well of various ages, shapes and sizes. Most looked as rough as the men he had shared the wagon with, with their heads held high and eyes glittering dangerously as the men in the square openly observed them. He knew his time wasn't going to be easy here (what little time he might have), but he did not envy the situation the women were in. Outnumbered and surrounded by men with little-to-no moral compass, day-to-day life would not be easy.

Once everyone had their packs, Blaine watched as a man came out of one of the surrounding buildings, striding up the stairs and onto the platform. He was an older man, but clearly a man of some authority (or at least he certainly thought so). He was well groomed, well dressed and stood impeccably straight. The man was silent for a few moments, looking down at the men and women milling below with obvious distaste. After some time, he cleared his throat loudly and began to address his audience.

"This platform is used for two purposes. Explaining the system to new arrivals and hanging those who abuse that system. Woodburn is zero tolerance. You've already been granted a mercy by being sent here. Don't expect anything further from us." Blaine shuffled nervously as the men around him muttered obscenities to one another. From Blaine's understanding, 'mercy' wasn't exactly the best descriptor for this place.

"In your hand, you have a pack. That pack has your rations for a week. The rest is up to you. There is work around here for those who seek it out. Work will provide you with a place to sleep and survival passed the first week. If you do not find work… I am told that starvation is quite uncomfortable. I would not recommend it," remarked Bradshaw dryly, looking disapprovingly at one of the men sitting at the table, who was snickering into his palm until he was nudged violently in the ribs by the man sitting beside him. Some of the men around him were muttering to each other angrily and for the first time Blaine finally felt a connection to this crowd. He didn't find starvation funny either, particularly when they were talking about his own.

Clearing his throat, the man raised a hand, asking for silence before he continued. "The rules are very simple. Don't steal, don't kill and keep your hands off of each other in every way, shape and form. Anyone attempting to escape will be shot on sight no questions asked. You've seen the terrain. It's near impossible to run and we'll see you if you try. Never forget. You are here because you are scum. The world does not want you. We intend to keep you from your betters." If Blaine thought he was shaken at the thought of starving to death, he was unprepared for the new low. Scum. Unwanted. What a wonderful place he had landed himself in.

"Back home you were wolves in lands of sheep. You made the lives of good folk difficult enough that they no longer wanted you among them. Well, you're now wolves in a land of stronger wolves. This is where you belong. Go find work. Be useful and you won't have a problem here."

Blaine stomach twisted uncomfortably as they were dismissed. He can't say he had ever thought himself a wolf. Not in any sense of the word. He was pretty sure he was the sheep in this analogy. Maybe not the typical every day sheep, but certainly not a wolf. He had no idea how to be a wolf, but he was starting to think his best chance might be to learn how to be one.


	3. Psycho to Psycho

**Warnings for this chapter:** Violence, Language.

* * *

Clutching the leather pack to his chest, Blaine began to wander the square, not sure where to begin. None of the buildings he could see were particularly remarkable, most of them sided with mismatched pieces of wood with windows of all shapes and sizes scattered from wall to wall. The entire place looked very patched together, almost as if it was pieced together from rejected building materials from other settlements.

Blaine found himself frowning, realizing that was likely precisely how this place was built. Buildings built from rejected pieces to house their rejected patrons. What a wonderful concept.

Starting to draw some stares from other men and women milling around the square, Blaine made a decision to head towards the tavern, knowing that any place serving alcohol was probably pretty central to a place like this. Looking lost and out-of-place here certainly wasn't going to do him any favours and surely he could find someone that could direct him to some sort of work. He had a variety of skills he had honed while working on the estate, but he wasn't really sure how that would translate to industry here. He knew he could be useful, he just had to figure out who to talk to. In the worst case scenario, Blaine had been told all his life he could charm a fish out of water. This bunch didn't look particularly appreciative of charm, but it was certainly worth a shot.

* * *

The tavern was pretty full for an early afternoon, smoke billowing out into the square as Blaine pushed his way into the dark room. People scattered at tables all around the room, Blaine was relieved to see that at least some people were actually sitting in groups, talking to one another. He had been concerned that this place was "every man for himself", but it seemed that people at least talked to each other. It wasn't much, but it was a start and somewhat comforting.

He had to admit, he wasn't exactly well-informed on Woodburn etiquette. Was it acceptable to just sit down at a table and join in on the conversation? Based on some people scattered around on their own, Blaine guessed that probably wasn't the case. After some mental back-and-forth he decided that sitting at the bar was his safest option. Standing by the door awkwardly waiting for someone to say hello to him probably wasn't going to gain him any favour.

Taking an empty seat by the bar, Blaine ordered himself some whiskey and began to nurse it, glancing around at the other patrons sitting around the smoky room. Most of the people around the tavern were a lot like the men and women he had seen around the square when he had arrived. Tattoos, grotesque scars, relatively unwashed and rough.

"So… This place. Any leads on work," asked Blaine nervously as he addressed the bartender, his voice coming out a lot higher than he had intended. The bartender continued with his work, ignoring Blaine as if he hadn't even spoken. He knew the man could hear him (he had just ordered a drink after all), but all the same he was suddenly not very interested.

"He's not much of a talker," said a soft voice to Blaine's left, a young woman sipping a drink sitting on the stool beside him.

"I kind of gathered that, actually," muttered Blaine.

"You're new," she remarked, flipping her hair behind her shoulder.

"That obvious, huh?" The girl smiled broadly, her dark lipstick contrasting against white teeth. The girl was incredibly pretty compared to the other women that Blaine had seen in the village to this point, even with her make-up dramatic and overdone. Her long, dark hair fell just below her shoulders, a streak of hot pink on the one side. She had piercings covering most of one ear and a swirling tattoo that started behind her left ear down below her shirt.

"Name?" she asked quietly, taking another sip of her drink.

"Blaine."

"Nice to meet you, Blaine, I'm Ronnie." Blaine shook the girl's hand, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Blaine was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her. Blaine told her about his life before Woodburn and the estate cottage that he grew up in with his parents and his brother. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt when he thought of home… He missed his family more than he would've even thought possible.

"I'm selfish," whispered Blaine quietly, into his third glass of whiskey.

"We're all a little selfish, I think. I mean, ending up here… You were either entirely alone or you screwed over someone to be here. Either way, the world doesn't need us. This place isn't half bad once you learn it."

"What do you mean?"

"Play the game," she whispered, swirling her drink. Blaine couldn't think of a thing to say to that. He knew he wanted to try and survive here, but he still wasn't sure he was prepared for what that might entail.

"You've got a little bit of a lost puppy vibe going. Not going to lie, I dig it," purred Ronnie, winking at Blaine as he struggled not to blush. Sheepishly he began to rub the back of his neck, suddenly taking a very keen interest in the wood grain on the bar. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Sorry, just… All this talk about games and well… The compliments. I guess suddenly I'm realizing just how sheltered I've been up to this point," he admitted.

"Just needed the right girl to come a long, clearly. I know, I'm fantastic," joked Ronnie, nudging him playfully in the ribs.

"Something tells me that's really not what it is," teased Blaine. "I was in love once. With a boy. I think that waiting for the right girl was probably never my problem."

"Don't knock it until you try it, pretty boy, said Ronnie, standing up from her stool. "You need a place to sleep tonight? I've got a place and some room." Blaine nodded, smiling at the girl. A little dizzy from his drinks, Blaine also stood, shuffling out the door with his arm around Ronnie for support.

They walked for about fifteen minutes through the rows of shabby makeshift houses on the way to Ronnie's apartment, their easy banter continuing every step of the way. For the first time since he had left home, Blaine felt almost entirely at ease. He had a place to stay, a friend to talk to and someone who knew this place to help him to find his way and survive here.

He could find work, he could find a place to stay… It really seemed like he might be able to survive here. The tavern had been pleasant enough, the night sky over the desert was actually quite beautiful and he had actually made a friend.

When they finally turned down an alleyway between two shacks at the end of a long street, he suddenly felt a little uneasy. All of the houses they had seen so far had had doors at the front and had been well-lit… This alleyway didn't seem to have any doorways and was incredibly dark.

It wasn't until Blaine felt the blade on his neck that he knew he had been terribly, terribly naive.

* * *

Pain bloomed at the back of Blaine's head as it was slammed into a wooden beam. Still holding the knife to his throat, Ronnie was smiling in the darkness, Blaine just able to see her pearly white teeth as his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

"I'm not even sure what you want- You can have my rations. Really, that's all I have," pleaded Blaine, reaching for the satchel at his side. The movement only made Ronnie put more pressure on the knife, Blaine feeling its blade break the skin on his neck.

The girl laughed cruelly, licking at the blood that had dripped from his neck. He felt a shiver go through his body, struggling to stay as still as possible as the girl pulled back and started to trace patterns on his neck with the cool blade.

"I meant it when I said you were a puppy, pretty boy. And yes, I will take your rations. But not before I have my fun. How do you think I survive here, princess?"

It hit Blaine all at once as she spoke. He should've noticed that she was completely out of place. This tiny, attractive girl in a place like this… He should've known right away that she wasn't just tough enough to survive, but tough enough to be feared. Blaine had pieced this girl together way too late… A strong, cunning and beautiful psychopath. He was definitely starting to question his ability to judge character. It really seemed like the large majority of people he chose to surround himself with never had his best interests at heart. This time he had just majorly stepped in it.

His first night in Hell and he was going to die. Blaine couldn't believe how foolish he had been, thinking that he could actually make it here. He hadn't even lasted one day. Not one, measly day.

"It's been fun, pretty boy. Shame you hadn't met anyone yet. It's more fun when they leave behind a group of angry meathead friends. It's even more fun when they realize who done it and they don't do shit in retaliation. But you were such a pretty lamb. I couldn't just let the opportunity get away," Ronnie mumbled, continuing to trace the point of the knife down his neck to his collarbone, lower until she started to pop the buttons off of his shirt.

Suddenly Blaine found himself on the ground, his chest blessedly not stabbed by any sharp, foreign objects. In the darkness he wasn't able to clearly make out what was going on, but he could hear his own personal psychopath arguing with a person whose voice he didn't recognize. The second figure, a man, was much taller than the girl and was shoving her away, down the alleyway as he spoke in hushed tones. He couldn't quite make out what either person was saying, but he had to admit that he much preferred the ground to his situation a few minutes ago.

Then again, he had to admit that he wasn't thrilled about his odds being at the mercy of a man that could wrangle a maniac. It probably wasn't going to be any better of a situation.

The two people had finally stopped arguing, the man now hauling him to his feet.

"Come on, let's go. You're not dead yet, use your feet," muttered the stranger, pulling him from the alleyway as fast as he could manage.

Out in the light, Blaine took in his saviour (or replacement murderer, which could very well be the case). Seeing the man in front of him actually caused him to stop, temporarily forgetting about the psychopath behind him. The man was slightly taller than him, a brunette with the most vibrant blue eyes that Blaine had ever seen on a person. His mouth was set in a thin line, clearly unimpressed with Blaine's sudden inability to walk.

"Seriously, let's go. Unless you want me to toss you back to Ronnie. It would seriously make my night a lot easier and her a lot less bitchy," growled the man, starting to pull on his arm, heading back in the same direction of the tavern.


	4. Jack-Of-All-Trades

The walk was awkward for both of them, and despite his nerves Blaine knew that at least until he had a clearer picture of what was going on that he had best leave the other man alone. His companion didn't seem all that friendly and he couldn't help but think that he might have used up every last bit of his luck by this point. Then again there was a possibility that this this good looking stranger was going to dismember him in an even darker alleyway than the last one had chosen, of course. Blaine wasn't entirely convinced that that wasn't the direction this whole thing was going in and _that_ would be much more Blaine's luck.

Blaine couldn't help being curious about his saviour. The man had to be somewhere around his age, and was incredibly handsome. Blaine knew that he couldn't be new here, or else he wouldn't have been able to handle Ronnie as he had. Somehow he didn't seem like he belonged in this place. He didn't know how to explain it, but the only way he could really describe him was to say he was beautiful.

As they continued to walk, Blaine started to feel heavy with all that had happened throughout the day starting to hit him. He was incredibly thankful for the row of houses ahead of him coming to an end- surely they had to be reaching their destination soon. Of course that was assuming that the man wasn't going to rob him, murder him and toss his body out into the desert sand _beyond_ the row of shacks. Blaine couldn't help it if his thoughts were getting a little dark. He was exhausted, scared and starving. Today hadn't exactly been one for the books.

They stopped in front of one of the smaller shacks, a flickering light attached to the trim around the front door. The dwelling looked almost exactly like all of the other homes in the row but for one difference that Blaine couldn't help but appreciate- the door was beautiful. Contrasting to the rest of the building around it, it looked like it had been carefully crafted by hand by someone very skilled. It was patched together with random building materials like every other piece of the shack but someone had taken the time to artfully arrange the pieces to form a pattern.

It shocked Blaine out of his reverie as the stranger unlocked and opened the door. Grabbing an old lantern from inside the door and lighting it, he gestured for Blaine to join him as he entered the home. Blaine couldn't help it, he was conflicted. He could turn away, head back towards the tavern where there were people. He could ask again about work, although it might be too late and the tavern patrons might be too drunk at this point in the evening to help him with that. His judge of character hadn't been very good lately, so even though every fiber of his being was telling him to go into the shack with the stranger, he couldn't help but want to do exactly the opposite, perhaps just to spite himself.

"Look, I'm tired, you're tired. Either come in or walk away. If you're not particularly irritating, I won't murder you. That's as close to accommodating as I plan to be," whispered the stranger, again gesturing to Blaine to get into the shack. He looked side-to-side as he spoke, as if he was expecting an audience.

"When you put it that way, I'm suddenly extremely comfortable," sighed Blaine, reluctantly shuffling up the steps and into the shack, jumping a little at the loud scraping sound of the stranger bolting the door behind them.

The taller man sat down at a desk on the other side of the room, carrying the lamp with him as he walked. He sighed loudly, placing the things that he had been carrying on the desk. Blaine noticed that the satchel he was carrying looked a lot like the one he had been given, but it was a lot older. He had also had a pouch attached to his belt which he placed beside the bag on the desk.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" asked Blaine quietly, taking a seat on a cot on the opposite side of the room from the other man.

"Yes, but I doubt that will stop you," sighed the stranger.

"You helped me because…?" He couldn't help it, he really wanted to know. He had never seen this man in his life and Blaine definitely didn't have anything of value that this man could possibly be after.

"First day here, right? Get some sleep. You can take that cot. I'll be over here," said the other man, crawling into a bigger cot not far from his desk.

"How long have you been here?" Blaine asked quietly, eyeing the other man as he settled under the thin sheets on his cot. The look he got in response was dark enough to cause him to flinch.

"Long enough to know that the wrong questions can easily get you killed."

"Asking them or answering them?" He knew the stranger was probably impatient with him, but he couldn't help it. Snark was in his nature.

"Take your pick." Blaine couldn't help but wince at the harshness of the other man's tone, which didn't escape his companion's notice.

With a sigh, he continued, "Look, I don't know what it was like where you came from, but learn to shut your mouth or someone will shut it for you. To clarify, not a threat. I meant it when I said that I wouldn't hurt you. But seriously, just sleep, OK?"

The look on the man's face was soft, almost understanding despite the harshness of his words. Blaine decided he wasn't scared of him, not really. But he knew when to shut up, snark aside. The other man was obviously not up for banter tonight. He couldn't help it really- this was who he was, dire straits or not. But still, he really didn't want to push this guy any further. This tall, thin, soft spoken stranger is probably the only reason he was presumably going to survive the night. And despite the filth here, the murderers prowling in the dark and people willing to buy and sell him for soup, he really did want to survive.

He was so quiet Blaine almost didn't hear him over the sound of his own rambling thoughts. "Sorry," mumbled the stranger, toying with a small knife that had been on the desk beside his bed. "I know you're in a shit situation. We all are. I just- I haven't had someone here in a while. I'm not great with new people, you know."

"You don't say."

Blaine felt his face flush as the stranger looked up at him, a smirk on his face. It was the first time he had seen the man smile, and Blaine couldn't help but feel a little bit better for seeing it. His blue eyes flicking in the light of the lantern as he snuffed it out. Blaine watched as he pulled the blankets up to his chin.

"I do mean it though," he continued, turning to face the wall. "You really need to watch what you say to people here. You're in a world of liars and thieves. Except nobody believes shit and there's nothing good to steal."

"I'm not sure I-"

The stranger continued, still facing the wall. "Information is as good as cash here. If people know things about you, they have stuff to use against you. And they _will _use it against you. Seriously, kid I-"

"I'm probably the same age as you. And I have a name, it's Blaine."

The stranger turned back over and looked at him, unimpressed. "And there you go with more information. Honestly, you should get some rest. I solemnly swear not to murder you while you sleep." The stranger was looking at him again, with a mocking hand over his heart as he spoke.

Blaine smiled as he settled more comfortably on the cot, pulling the thin sheet up to his chin as he started to finally relax for the first time all day.

Once both men were fully settled under the covers, Blaine couldn't resist pushing his luck on more time. "I know, questions suck. But- Can you tell me your name? I will solemnly swear to not sell any information to the highest bidder just as you so kindly promised to not gut me while I sleep."

"Fair enough. I'm Kurt."

He couldn't explain it. This place wasn't comfortable, or safe, or warm. The strange man on the nearby cot wasn't all that warm or personable. But for the first time in months, Blaine felt like he might actually get a good night's sleep.

"You still didn't tell me why you helped me. Or how come that psycho chick didn't murder you? Do you out-psycho her or something?" asked Blaine the next morning over breakfast. The food wasn't anything fancy, but even a small amount of plain oatmeal tasted like heaven to Blaine after the food from the last few weeks.

"Do I look like I out-psycho her?" asked Kurt playfully, pushing his oatmeal around the bowl.

"You're dodging the question."

Kurt sighed, pausing for a while before answering. He seemed troubled by it and Blaine didn't want to push his luck, but he really needed to know.

"Ronnie and I have an understanding. I wouldn't say I out-psycho her. I helped her a while back, and in return she doesn't try to gut me like she does most things she thinks are pretty," replied Kurt.

"Seems like a pretty good deal for you."

"I know that I thought so," said Kurt drily, picking up both empty bowls from the table and putting them in a large basin before settling back down at the table.

"You still didn't answer the 'why' of it all," chided Blaine. "I mean, what's it to you if some random guy gets murdered on his first day here?"

The other man paused again, almost as if he was deliberating on something. Blaine knew that he was asking a lot of questions (which was apparently bad) and he knew he was putting Kurt in an awkward spot. There just had to be some sort of reason.

"Psycho-chick had a good point."

"Oh?"

"You do kind of have a lost puppy vibe going on," replied Kurt coyly, winking at him for emphasis. Blaine couldn't help but blush at the wink. This guy was incredibly handsome. Blaine knew that he was still dodging the question, but it really didn't seem like he was going to get anything but sarcasm out of him. At least not yet.

It had taken him a while to fall asleep after learning Kurt's name last night. Despite his body being absolutely exhausted, his mind was still whirring at an insane pace as he tried to make sense of the last few hours and the seemingly safe, warm bed he was now in. Part of that was trying to make sense of what little information that he knew about his saviour. He hadn't talked to him long, but Blaine was comforted by the fact that once they were off the street and safe inside he had gotten more and more personable. The easy banter between the two of them at breakfast this morning was even more encouraging- this man was a nice person. He tried to act tough, but he did seem to be a good person. Then again, Blaine's ability to judge who was and wasn't trying to murder him wasn't exactly one of his top qualities.

Still, Blaine was about eighty percent sure Kurt wasn't preparing to murder him and that was most certainly progress.

"Lost puppies aside, I guess I should probably hit the tavern," mumbled Blaine, motioning to get up. He was surprised when Kurt grabbed his forearm and held him to the table.

"Why in the world would you want to do that?" asked Kurt shortly, giving Blaine a concerned look.

"Work?" replied Blaine in a confused tone. Maybe the tavern wasn't open in the morning or something. Or maybe this place was like taverns in some provinces where it was taboo to be seen there before noon. Based on the patrons of Woodburn he had seen so far, he doubted that drinking in the early morning was frowned upon.

"The tavern is dangerous. People like Ronnie prowl there, even in the day. And work is hard to come by as it is," explained Kurt.

"Then what do I do? Is there somewhere else I can look for work?"

Kurt considered for a minute, chewing on his bottom lip as he directed his gaze to the table in front of him. He jerked his head up, staring directly into Blaine's eyes as he spoke. "Help me with my stuff. You can stay here, I'll feed you and give you a place to stay."

"Your 'stuff'_._ That doesn't sound vaguely ominous at all," snickered Blaine.

"Sorry, didn't realise you had other places to be," responded Kurt. "More important things to do, etc. I hear Ronnie is prowling for a new play thing."

"I think I'll pass on that, thanks. I'm reasonably fond of my limbs attached the way that they currently are," remarked Blaine. "Seriously, though. What exactly do you do?"

Kurt remained silent for a few moments as if he was carefully considering something. "A little bit of everything, I guess? A jack-of-all-trades, I guess you would call me. You've heard that before?"

"Sure, but what exactly does that mean in a place like this?" Blaine couldn't imagine this place really had that many 'trades' going for it.

"Remember when I told you information is king here? That's kind of my business."

Blaine frowned. He didn't like the idea of selling secrets. In a place like this it seemed like it was too easy a way to make oneself a target and Blaine really had no intention of standing out from the crowd here. And honestly, he and gossip hadn't really had the best track record.

Lost in thought, Blaine hadn't noticed that Kurt had sensed what his silence might mean. "Look, I'm not in the business of screwing people over, if that's what you think. There are people that do things like that here, though. But I don't exploit anyone or anything. I like to think that I'm in the business of making people happy."

"Excuse me? Not a chance," spat Kurt, clearly irritated, his face still slightly red. "'Happy' doesn't always mean _that._"

"Sorry... But still I'm not sure I follow," responded Blaine sheepishly. It was a little hard to believe that there was really actual ways for anyone to be 'happy' here in any real way.

"I find out what people want. I try to make it happen, within reason. Not anything messed up or anything… Like I wouldn't give Ronnie a head in a box to sleep with or anything, but I like to think I make people's existence here a little more tolerable. I know everyone, including the guards. I can get things brought in when I need to, get messages out if they aren't violent or crazy."

"You bridge the gap," realised Blaine, suddenly pretty impressed. Kurt had to be one hell of a people person. Based on his brief experience with the guards on his first day here, he couldn't imagine being able to charm a smile from them, never mind charm them into smuggling goods into a secure compound.

"I guess you could say that. The guards trust me, I guess. They trusted my parents too, so that helps," replied Kurt with a sad smile.

"They did this too?"

"Not so much. My dad was a master craftsman. He could build anything. Metal, wood, anything. My mom worked with textiles. They were good people. I guess I'm trusted to do this because the guards liked them so much. It also kind of keeps the peace. Psychotic killers are less murdery when they're happy," responded Kurt matter-of-factly.

"I'm in."

Kurt smiled broadly, shaking his hand firmly.

Blaine tried to ignore the somersault that his stomach did at the contact. This was about survival. Blaine had to keep himself focused on that fact.


End file.
